Since the basement suite at my Toronto son’s home is currently between renters, he and my daughter-in-law and I decided this would be a perfect time for me to come and stay longer than my usual visits. I left Vancouver yesterday morning and arrived in the evening to a warm welcome. I’ll be here a month.
On the flight I watched a movie: Young Woman and the Sea, based on the true story of Trudy Ederle, the first woman to swim the English Channel. I found myself choking up at numerous points, which surprised me, because although it’s well done and inspiring, it’s also a fairly predictable triumph-over-adversity narrative. Why was my emotional skin so thin that every little thing in the movie threatened to puncture it?
I discerned that perhaps even more than I’d been aware of, I was discouraged by the recent U.S. election, especially in matters concerning women. It felt as if the formidable challenges Trudy Ederle faced as a female in sports in the 1920s were standing in for the resurgence of an ugly cultural misogyny.
Perhaps the anticipation of inhabiting the exact space Helmut and I did more than eight years ago was part of it too. After we packed our Winnipeg belongings into a storage pod, spring 2016, we came to Toronto for two-plus months, living in the basement. Helmut helped son Peter wall off the area for the current two-room apartment. My sister, whose husband died several years before mine, once observed, “You get used to it.” And it’s true, eventually you do. It would actually be awful if one didn’t get used to things. Nevertheless, anticipation of a return to the space we (and then I) had not been in again since 2016 (because it was renter-occupied) seemed to be triggering sad nostalgia.
The Toronto house I’m in. (By Natalie Czerwinski.)
Once inside it, however, I was slightly disoriented and realized that the space had subtly altered in my memory. I have a strong sense of places I’ve lived, but obviously it’s far from infallible. As I settled into the specifics of the present — one twin bed in the room, not two squished together, and the addition of a desk and chair and some other furniture — the memories became clearer and re-arranged themselves, and I was happy about them and also ready to enjoy being here with the children and three granddaughters — semi-independent but connected — and to work on a couple of small writing projects as well as help along in whatever ways I can. My emotional skin feels thicker; there’s fresh courage in this space.
Borrowing Bones 
It’s always good when that sliver of encouragement comes, isn’t it! This morning we had a celebration at Jubilee, blessing Janessa for a two year period of pastoral ministry before her ordination. I felt so privileged to be worship leader at this celebration!
So glad you’re still leading in worship, Elfrieda!
As always, a pleasure to read.
Thank you Rosemary.
My dear, Dora. Such profound sentiments and so beautifully written.
Thank you for sharing. Those of us who walk the widow’s walk, hear and relate. ❤️
Thank you Ronalynn and glad to have you on the path with me.
Wish I was in Waterloo so that we could do a Toronto visit.
Me too, Al.
Such a finely delineated sense of place and space — where you are now. I’m glad to know that where you are is Toronto and look forward to lunch and conversation.
Yes, soon!
I understand the connection with memories and the physical place. I also identify with the feeling of vulnerability after seeing such bald faced misogyny in the news from the south. Thank you for writing.
Thank you Charlotte, I appreciate your friendship.
Lovely to read you will be with family for a while.
This was a poignant sentence for me:
“Why was my emotional skin so thin that every little thing in the movie threatened to puncture it?”
As J M Barrie said:
“God gave us memory that we might have roses in December.”
I pray that you will indeed have those memories along with beautiful roses.
Be blessed with your family at this special time of year.
Maureen xx
Thank you Maureen, and the very same to you!
Beautifully expressed within the boundaries of two rooms and yet wide enough to cover all the women of the world. Thank you for caring for us in the U.S. We hope you can keep the contagion far from your shores.
We care, Shirley, because friends like you matter to us so much! Courage to you and gratitude for all the light you bring into your places.